Hayward - In a nondescript warehouse on the edge of the San Francisco Bay, the future of pro wrestling is getting body slammed, clotheslined and pile drived.

From buffed-out bodybuilders to skinny kids with a dream, the young wrestlers cavort around a ring practicing moves designed to wow spectators and minimize actual pain.

This is the All-Pro Wrestling Boot Camp, where wannabe "Stone Cold" Steve Austins and "Hollywood" Hulk Hogans are learning the finer points of the, er, sport.

"A lot of my friends say it's fake, but it still hurts," said 22-year old student James Choi.

The grueling two-year program, which costs $6,000, weeds out the avid Monday night-wrestling viewers who think, "I can do that." Only a lucky few make it to "Stone Cold" status.

We have a lot of people who walk through the door and they think they'll pay a fee and there's a table that says 'gimmicks' and then there's another that says 'nicknames.' They think that's all there is to it," said Boot Camp founder Roland Alexander. "The people I look for are the ones who love pro wrestling. Because either you love it or you're crazy."

The Boot Camp, and about two dozen similar schools around the country, are the minor leagues of pro wrestling. Alexander's program is among the more comprehensive.

"I kind of expected that I'd just spend a couple of months in the ring, but here, they give you the time to work on everything," Mike Phillips said, preparing for a series of drills.

Graduates perform in regional shows, developing their characters while vying for a tryout with one of the major leagues: the World Wrestling Federation and the competing World Championship Wrestling.

If they are lucky, they'll get signed to a developmental contract, go through more training and get a shot at the big time. Two graduates have made it that far, "Vicious" Vic Grimes and Erin "The Leprechaun" O'Grady. Both are currently training in Tennessee.

"There are no shortcuts to anything in life. If you want to be a doctor, it takes time and study and years in school. If you want to be a baseball player, you've got to be dedicated and work your way up through the minor leagues," Alexander said. "It's the same thing here. In my opinion, pro wrestling is a complex sport, a complex art form."

Alexander left a $50,000-a-year job as an accountant and started his fledgling school in 1991. But those were tough times for wrestling. There was talk about steroid abuse and some promoters were admitting that matches were "predetermined" - fancy for "fake," but folks in the wrestling business hate that word.

Strangely, it was just what the sport needed. Once everyone 'fessed up the fights were fixed, it turned out the audience didn't care. They wanted to see the spectacle anyway.

Today, WWF and WCW matches are among the most popular shows on cable television and pay-per-view, drawing in viewers with cartoonish plot lines often pitting good characters against evil ones.

The soap opera-like skits provide a healthy dose of trash-talk and sexual innuendo, punctuated by rock 'n' roll, fireworks and outrageous costumes. The actual wrestling sometimes seems like an afterthought.

Alexander has mixed feelings about the state of wrestling today. Some of the focus, he said, has turned away from the sport toward an in-your-face anything-for-ratings circus.

Those criticisms were echoed by many recently when Owen Hart fell 90 feet from the ceiling of a Kansas arena to his death while performing a pre-match stunt.

But Alexander has profited from pro wrestling's popularity, and his phone ringing off the hook. One would-be wrestler called to say he already had a gimmick, he just needed the training.

The caller had no idea what he was getting into.

"Of every 100 people who come through the door, only three to five make it to the next level," Alexander said.

Michael "The Natural One" Modest, is a Boot Camp instructor. The charismatic 27-year old said he was a bit too small and didn't have the right look to really make it to Hulk Hogan's level.

"I've always been very realistic," he said. "The chances of you make it in this business are about the same as becoming a really famous actor and winning the Academy Award."

Just making it through the Boot Camp is tough.

In one drill, the students jump off the corner ropes, flip in midair, and crash on their backs in the center of the ring. There are audible groans as bodies hit the mat, bounce up, and drop again. Over and over.

"I know it sounds kind of corny, but I had a dream about being a wrestler about two or three years ago," said Phillips, who has bleached hair and wears a Batman T-shirt. "Ever since then, that's what I've wanted to do."

Manuel Galindo, 24, commutes two hours from West Sacramento to attend class, where he practices such moves as the hip-toss, the turning arm-bar and the headlock.

"I feel I've got what it takes to do it," he said. "A lot of people drop out with little stuff. But I keep going, even if I'm hurt."

Modest admits half the trick is learning how to get slammed around the ring. The rest of it is showmanship.

"What gets the crowd to react? That's the stuff that makes pro wrestling so much fun to watch," he said. "Anybody can go in there and throw a body slam, but if you don't do it right you can look like a couple of monkeys in the ring."